


I'm Not Me When I'm With You

by wrenchosen (Janyolski)



Category: Warrior Nun (TV)
Genre: Avatrice, Canon Compliant, F/F, might have a nun kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:54:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25494955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janyolski/pseuds/wrenchosen
Summary: Sister Beatrice is brilliant but guarded. Around Ava, she becomes a little more relaxed, open to banter and puns and physical affection. Ava is impulsive and brash. Around Bea, she thinks twice, considers others before acting and is slow to lashing out. How long does it take before their companions notice the way they act around each other? How long before they notice the difference in themselves?Or just a series of in between scenes that happened during season 1 where I study Ava and Bea as characters and Avatrice interactions and then write self-indulgent fics where they are super whipped and gay for each other.
Relationships: Sister Beatrice/Ava Silva
Comments: 48
Kudos: 312





	1. Breakfast

**Author's Note:**

> So this idea for the first chapter came from Fa (@nayimathuns on twitter). She wants to drool over Beatrice doing martial arts forms in the morning or something like that.
> 
> Hello, hello, hello to the ladies at The Nunnery if yall do find this fic. I couldn't sleep so this is for you ladies.
> 
> Leave a kudos, leave a comment, or send me some love on twitter, @wrenchosen!
> 
> P.S. This was written and hastily posted. No beta-reader. All mistakes are mine. Feel free to point them out so I can correct them!

Ava awakes with a start. It seems that it’s the only way she knows how to wake up now.

Ever since she was brought back from the dead by the good unknown nun, who - may her soul rest in peace - put the halo in her back without her consent, it’s like every morning she jolts back to the realm of the living from the dead.

It was as if her body has a mind of its own and it worries that it’s been immobile for far too long, so it sends little red flags with electric shocks to her brain to wake her up and get her going. So she wakes up with either a scream lodged in her throat, a little kick of her leg, or by phasing through the bed.

The halo seems to protect the back of her head from hitting the concrete floor consistently, though, numbing her from the hit. However, the halo isn’t as quick to protect her when she tries to get up, and ends up smacking her forehead against the underside of her bed.

And every morning since she’d been resurrected, her waking habits have been the same.

Wake up. Kick.

Count from one to ten. Breathe. Inhale. Exhale. 

Let her eyes roam whatever room she is in.

Count from one to ten, again, wiggling each finger along with every number, literally feeling each digit.

Count another ten, this time wiggling her toes.

Then sigh.

A deep, long-suffering sigh. A big relieved sigh.

And when she’s satisfied that she isn’t back to being quadriplegic again, she closes her eyes. She breathes. And then opens them again.

For a new day.

Ava sees the bare beginnings of a morning seep in from the small window.

She is currently in one of the extra rooms that Jillian Salvius had been generous enough to let her and her companions use for the time being, as they prepare to find Adriel’s bones. Her room is clinically clandestine with it’s white walls but it was still comfortably and stylistically furnished, with it’s single bed and desk-chair set. The little window allowed for it to be bathed in little streaks of soft orange, giving the room a softer glow.

Ava breathes in and feels herself relaxing further. She reminds herself once again that she is okay, that she can move.

Some days it takes a lot of convincing and a lot of breathing before she does start moving. Today, luckily, isn’t one of those days.

Ava doesn’t know if it’s something in the soft rays of the early morning sun or if it’s a good dream already forgotten, but the ever-present weight in her bones since she’d accepted her faith as the halo-bearer feels lighter.

She throws both of her legs over the edge of the bed and sits up at the same time. She stretches her arms above her head so that her white sleeping shirt rides up a little at her back, she yawns, and she scratches the little patch of skin on her lower back that peeks under her shirt. Her eyes find the digital clock and sees it read as 5:45 AM.

It’s entirely too early for her to be up, she thinks. But her stomach disagrees with a rumble.

That was another thing she learned after being able to move from the neck down - movement required energy, energy required _sustenance_.

Besides waking like a 5 year old with her finger stuck in the electric socket, Ava was also now hungry all the time.

She quickly takes off her sleeping shirt and puts on one of the many dark navy blue hoodie she wears for training, in lieu of it. She puts on joggers and sneakers, pulls all of her brown locks from her face and neatly ties them into a ponytail. She then happily bounds off to the kitchen. Or the semblance of a kitchen Jillian has in this wing of the Arq Tech building.

A pantry. It was definitely more like a pantry.

* * *

Beatrice closes her eyes. The sister warrior is up on the rooftop, intending to warm up her body with both the morning sun and her usual exercises. This has been part of her morning routine for as long as she could remember.

Beatrice breathes in fresh morning dew and the city’s sleepy haze through her nostrils, expels it as a relaxing breath through her mouth. She feels the suns’ rays warm her face, it’s soft orange hue splaying out beautifully against her skin.

During summers back in her childhood, she’d loved surfing. She’d taken surfing lessons then, her parents needing only a little convincing when she’d shown interest during their first vacation in the beaches of South Finland.

The waves had rolled so beautifully - rising with its white peaks, then crashing at the shore. The surfers had looked so magnificent, riding such uncontrollable forces of nature, maneuvering over and through them like magicians.

Beatrice might have been young, but she could already imagine how much precision and skill it must require, to know exactly how to ride a wave, to both be at its mercy and be its master.

Those summers she would get so tan.

She thinks sadly now of how she hasn’t gotten as tanned since she joined the OCS. Sure, she would spend mornings training outside, like she does now, but once the sun settles too high in the sky, they would move combat training inside the halls of the monastery in Cat’s Cradle.

Beatrice doesn’t let the thought linger for too long. Like everything that has ever happened in her life, she refuses to let it bog her down.

Instead she shuts it out. Compartmentalizes it. Tucks it away in the maze of rooms and closets in what her parents have constantly praised as her brilliant mind.

Their brilliant daughter.

Beatrice sucks in a breath and drops down to the horse stance, feet wide apart, elbows bent and tucked into her sides.

Their talented and skilled daughter.

Beatrice exhales. She grounds herself, finds her core.

Their _perfect_ daughter.

She moves through her first _kata_. And then another. She maintains her breathing, feet rooted, unmovable. She keeps going through her basic breathing exercises and forms. She feels her mind quiet to a blank, the noisy static clearing out to a quiet, peaceful white, the garbled noise reducing to nothingness.

And like magic - like the rolling tides of the beaches in Southern Finland - everything else that isn’t movement and pure instinct, seeps out of Beatrice.

* * *

The toaster dings and Ava jumps a little in surprise, mimicking the slices of toast.

It’s not like she wasn’t expecting the loud _ding_ or anything - she isn’t stupid, she knows how toasters _work_ \- but it caught her off-guard, anyway.

Ava haphazardly puts a ceramic plate down beside the counter. It clangs and clatters while she pulls the warm toast out.

Ava only then realizes that fresh toast may be a little too warm to be touched with bare fingertips and so she burns herself. The halo bearer recoils from the pain, a few choice curse words bowling over each other in a hurry on their way out of her mouth.

That was one other thing Ava was getting used to in this new non-quadriplegic life of hers: _pain_.

Pain and _so many_ sensations.

Out of instinct, Ava puts her burned forefinger against her tongue. With her other hand, she covers her fingers with her sleeve to shield sensitive skin from the high temperature of newly-toasted bread.

She successfully manages to stack both slices onto the plate and she lets out a little _hehe_ laugh in triumph. She finds an unopened jar of peanut butter and a half-full jar of jam, grabs a bread knife from the cupboard with the cutlery. And with a grin, she generously lathers peanut butter on one toast slice and jam on the other.

This was another thing she loved about her new freedom in movement: she can put as much peanut butter and jam on toast as she wants.

Sister Frances - the _horrible fucking monster_ that she is - always put too little pb and j in her pb&j. It was just absolutely _unacceptable_. And she is so happy that she never has to put up with that _again_.

Ava holds the sandwich up to her mouth and is about to take a bite when a thought occurs to her.

How lovely it must be to watch the sunrise at the Arq Tech rooftop while having breakfast.

So the petite halo bearer sets her pb&j toast back down on it’s plate and bounds off to the elevator and up to the rooftop with a skip in her step.

* * *

Beatrice should have heard or felt Ava arrive at the rooftop.

But whether it be because she was enjoying the warmth of the sun on her skin or concentrating too hard to keep vexing thoughts away, the most combat-trained sister warrior fails to detect the presence of another with her.

When Ava sees someone on the rooftop, diligently going through what looked like martial arts forms when the sun has barely broken through the horizon, she knew there could only be one person who would be disciplined enough to.

_Beatrice._

But when Ava is about to call for her, she stops.

Ava doesn’t know whether it is the serene that blankets everything - not a bird chirping nor a cricket making a sound - or it was the way soft muted sunlight washes over the outlines of her friend and fighting companion, dancing on her dark colored warrior’s tunic, but Beatrice’s name is caught in her throat.

Ava watches Beatrice move gracefully - stepping forward, stepping back, extending her arms and hands then drawing them in again. She looked like she was dancing.

It’s so beautiful Ava could almost hear the music in the silence; could hear the quiet, steady beats in the absolute stillness of the morning.

Beatrice has her eyes closed. She was moving more freely now, as if in a trance, completely lost in the familiarity of the movements.

Ava is rooted at her spot, stuck immobile once more.

Yet her body which now usually gets uncomfortable with lengthy periods of staying put, makes no protest. It’s as if her body, for once since regaining the ability to move, is in agreement with her mind; it happily acquiesced her mind’s request to once again revert to the role of a spectator.

But perhaps neither Ava’s body nor mind had a say in it.

Because Beatrice was now flowing like water - ebbing and rolling like the tides. Then she switches to roaring fire - striking an imaginary opponent dead, burning hot and consuming.

Her movements are clean, precise, and controlled. She is a calligrapher’s brush, dipped in perfectly ground ink against inkstone and dancing on canvas.

Beatrice is _beautiful_.

Yet at the same time she is a knife newly sharpened against whetstone, slicing through skin and muscle and bone.

Beatrice is _deadly_.

Ava gulps. Pb&j forgotten.

The combination of beautiful and deadly isn’t such a new concept to Ava. She’s seen enough National Geographic documentaries to know that what is beautiful in nature is oftentimes deadly.

Yet her jaw hangs open in stunned silence, not moving an inch since laying eyes on Beatrice.

The sister warrior returns to her horse stance, then reverts back to a standing position. Her bent elbows, tucked at her sides relax and she expels a huge breath.

Ava breathes out along with her, exhaling a breath she didn’t know she was holding in.

Beatrice suddenly senses her, quickly turns around in surprise.

“Ava,” the sister warrior calls her name out, her tone wrapping it in curiosity and interest. “I didn’t realize you were there. I must have been too focused on practicing my forms.” A single bead of sweat rolls down the slope of her nose before it falls to the ground.

Ava follows it with her eyes, her sight landing on the sandwich on a plate in her hand. She remembers why she was here.

“Oh! Right.” Ava clears her throat and then lets out a shy chuckle. She shrugs. “I woke up a little too early and got hungry, so I went to the kitchen. It’s more of a pantry, really, it’s too freaking tiny to be a kitchen and it’s severely lacking in modern kitchenware and appliances to be--,” Ava realizes she’s rambling.

Beatrice’s lips quirk up into a smile. She always thought the halo bearer’s vocalization of her thought process too detailed, but she found it endearing.

For her, it was part of the smaller girl’s charm.

“Sorry, I mean,” Ava waves her free hand around, as if her words had appeared in speech bubbles around her and she was shooing them all away to clear them out. “I woke up, got hungry, and thought it would be nice to watch the sunrise while eating. I didn’t expect to find you up here.”

Beatrice smiles. “I always warm up before the sun rises,” she explains.

Ava nods and smiles. “Of course you do.” She says it without sarcasm or ridicule - just acceptance that such an activity is very much in line with Beatrice’s nature.

Beatrice laughs quietly. Behind her the sun shines big and round, illuminating the whole city.

“You would know I do morning exercises if you’d risen early in Cat’s Cradle and didn’t need Lilith to haul you out of bed every morning.”

Ava rolls her eyes at the jab about her being lazy. “Oh please, I knew tormenting me was the only form of entertainment Lilith had. I was doing it for her.”

Beatrice laughs a little louder than her usual quiet chuckles - a little more unbridled, a little more uninhibited. The sound is so rare but so pleasing that Ava can’t help but smile.

There is something about Beatrice laughing that makes Ava’s heart flutter.

A lull comes over them, as Ava doesn’t realize she’s just staring and smiling.

Staring and smiling at Beatrice.

It isn’t until Beatrice clears her throat that she realizes what she was doing. She almost apologizes for it but Beatrice beats her and says something first.

“I’m done with my exercises. Would you like to have your breakfast with me here, then?” The sister warrior gestures to a black thermos on the floor a few steps from her and a box wrapped in checkered cloth. “I usually have tea and eat something small to replenish my energy before going to the banquet hall for a proper breakfast with all of the sisters in Cat’s Cradle. But since we’re at Arq Tech and not at Cats Cradle, and Duretti has full control of the OCS now and we’re kind of fugitives from the Catholic Church, I figured I’d have my full breakfast up here and so I prepared it in a lunchbox. I have plenty and we can share if your sandwich isn’t enough for you.” Beatrice smirks. “Which, knowing you, it definitely wouldn’t be enough.”

Ava listens to Beatrice ramble, her grin growing wider and wider by the second. She didn’t really process much of anything Bea said after the invitation to have breakfast with her. Fortunately, she didn’t need to.

“I’d love to have breakfast with you.”


	2. Trivia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The breakfasts becomes their 'thing', too. Except when one day Beatrice decides to make a special omelette for her star pupil.

The rooftop breakfasts become their “thing”.

Or at least it does for the next three days after their first.

It always starts the same; Ava somehow waking up before the sun, stretching her limbs, collecting her wits and fully coming into her senses for a few minutes before she gets up, yawns, scratches the little spot of skin on her back that always seems to get itchy when she sleeps on it, and then clambers out of bed to put on one of her many, many navy hoodies. She stops by the fake-kitchen-actually-a-pantry for either two pieces of fruit or two toasted sandwiches.

Two.

One for her and one for Beatrice.

Ava pads down the hallway to the pantry with her retriever puppy steps. She doesn’t realize it but ever since she started walking again, she’s always been a happy little spring - almost as if her body is so grateful for the movement that her muscles never forgets to enjoy itself to the fullest.

After breakfast they would usually walk down together to the little training room Jillian has also so graciously provided. Beatrice would teach Ava a few basics of fighting self-defense and train her how to efficiently handle the Divinium sword with her being very petite compared to its previous wielders. Camila would join them, carrying snacks and her iPad, earphones stuck in each ear and always humming a tune. Father Vincent and Mary would eventually wander in to check or call them for a shared lunch, until yesterday when they had to leave and search for the map of the Vatican that Constantine commissioned.

But today would be different it seems.

Because when Ava opens the door to the kitchen-slash-pantry, Beatrice is there instead of up at the roof.

“Oh, hello,” Ava greets, one lip corner quirking up in pleasant surprise, confusion, and curiosity.

Beatrice turns around, light brown eyes bright and awake, her signature small, delicate smile gracing her face. The sister warrior is in her dark martial arts tunic, a  _ karategi  _ she called it, her hair pulled back into a neat bun without cloth wrapped around it.

Ava thinks she looks nice without the cloth on her head. She wishes Beatrice wouldn’t cover her hair as often, but head coverings must be part of her being a nun. Sadly so.

“Good morning,” Beatrice greets.

Ava turns to look at her empty wrist, forgetting that she doesn’t actually wear a watch. Beatrice snorts a quiet laugh. Realizing her mistake, she turns to look up at the white wall clock hanging on the pantry wall.

It read 5:53.

“You’re usually up on the roof by now,” Ava explains.

Beatrice nods and turns back around to whatever it is she’s doing. Ava steps to the side and takes a peep.

Thinly sliced vegetables lay neatly in lumps on a chopping board: carrots, green bell peppers, scallions. Then there was what Ava guessed to be some weird long-stemmed and tiny-headed thing that’s probably a type of mushroom, finely chopped garlic and beside them are eggs beaten to a warm yellow in a bowl.

“I usually am,” Beatrice says as she goes back to chopping the half carrot left. “But I thought I’d prepare something different today.”

A grin spreads on Ava’s face.

“Most students performing well get a star stamp on the back of her hand.” Ava sidles up to Beatrice, rests both palms on the counter and admires the ingredients approvingly. “I guess I get an omelette for being able to phase through 10 feet of stone, huh, teach?”

Beatrice gives her “pupil” a more graceful, smaller and quiet version of a snort of laughter. Ava smiles.

If she hadn’t known Beatrice - or if she hadn’t known her as well as she did now, after shared meals and training - there would have been mental commentary on how Beatrice is so prim, proper, and perfect that even something as unrefined and ugly as a snort of laughter looks elegant and beautiful on her.

But Ava knows her better now.

Ava knows that’s just how Beatrice is; that the sister warrior wears quiet elegance like woven silk around her shoulders, that her movements spell poise and refinement, that many women would kill themselves over to possess the grace that comes so naturally to her.

So Ava’s thoughts are quiet and she is filled with nothing but simple admiration.

If she was a little more self-aware, she would realize that her mind has a tendency to do that around Beatrice.

To hush. To still. And then to just admire.

“I thought a nice meal would serve dual purpose,” Beatrice explains. “As a reward and perhaps as motivation to consistently improve.”

Ava grins.

“So it is a reward.” She declares with triumph.

Beatrice just looks at her and smiles again. “I did just say that, yes.”

The sister warrior turned trainer and teacher, now chef, sets a teflon pan on the single electric stove at the other end of the small counter and turns it on. She puts a little splash of oil in it, gently swishes the oil around so it coats the flat surface of the pan. She gathers her ingredients, and starts  sautéeing the different fillings before pouring in the beaten egg that blankets and clings to all of it.

“What are those thin thingies?” Ava asks, curiosity spilling out of her lips before her mind realizes it. When Beatrice turns to her with a raised eyebrow, she elaborates for her sake. “The ones that look like mushrooms with long stalks? I’ve never seen anything like it before.” Ava says. “Well, I haven’t really been up and about for most of my life to actually see things, but you get what I mean.”

Beatrice gives her a nod, a little amazed at how Ava can make light of her situation before she had the halo in her back and a little proud.

It’s quite easy to beat people up in a fight. You learn the moves, you train, and then you just use them against your opponent.

Beatrice barely knows the details of what happened to Ava before she became the halo bearer - just that she’d been an orphan, quadriplegic, and was murdered by her supposed caretaker and a woman of the faith who’d taken the same vows as her.

But the sister warrior can imagine the mental fortitude and emotional strength it must take to be able to smile and make little quips about such a tragedy - to transform heartbreak into humor.

Ava slings trauma and pain over her shoulder like it was any other baggage, makes puns about it, without her signature grin faltering.

Bea thinks it’s beautiful. Admirable. It’s no wonder the halo chose her. 

Ava deserved that second chance. Beatrice can’t think of anyone more worthy. At least no one is in their ranks.

“They’re enoki mushrooms,” Beatrice explains as she folds the omelette. “Camila found some when she went grocery shopping yesterday and she bought some for me. She knows I love mushrooms.”

Ava smiles. Of course, thoughtful and caring Camila would come home with food she thinks the people she loves would enjoy.

“So you’re sharing them with me?” Ava wiggles her eyebrows. “I know I’m the chosen one and all that, but Sister Beatrice sharing her special mushrooms with me? I am honored.”

There is a joke about psychedelics to be made there somewhere. And if she was capable of mental commentary around Beatrice, she would be wondering if she was flirting.

Instead, the sound of the omelette sizzling fills the small space. Beatrice just looks at her with a smile and a tilt of the head.

If it were anyone else, Ava would feel slightly uncomfortable and offended having her remark ignored. Sister Frances did it all the time but Diego was there to offer a little giggle and a look.

But this was Beatrice. It was just her thing to let most of Ava’s jokes slip by. Ava never minded when Beatrice did that.

“Did you know that Buddhist nuns don’t ever cook with onions, garlic, scallions, chives and leeks?” Beatrice asks Ava as the omelette finishes cooking.

“Oh really? Why’s that?” Ava asks.

Beatrice turns the electric stove off. Ava grabs the lunchbox she recognizes as the one Beatrice usually uses to pack her breakfast in. The sister warrior gives a small smile in appreciation.

“They’re considered to be the five pungent spices. Some sects believe that eating them leads to anger and that they keep the monks and nuns from being able to meditate peacefully.” Beatrice explains as she covers the food container with its airtight lid. “Some buddhists believe they also attract hungry ghosts and demons.”

“Oh.” Ava opens the plastic containing the new loaf Camila also bought yesterday. She pops in two slices into the toaster, one slice for each slot, and presses the little lever on its side down. “That’s a neat little trivia,” she says. “Did you learn that in French or in latin, from reading books about other beliefs?”

This time, Beatrice giggles.

“What?” Ava asks, wondering what was so funny about what she said. She hadn’t even intended for it to be a real punchline.

Beatrice shakes her head.

“I learned it watching Chef’s Table on  _ Netflix _ . There are more ways to learn things than by reading them in French or Latin.”

Ava laughs.

“Right. Of course.”

The toast finishes with a ding. Ava pops in another set of bread. They pack the two sets of toast along with the omelette. Beatrice grabs the thermos with the already steeping tea in it. They take the elevator up to the top floor, then trudge up the stairs to the rooftop.

“Did you know that one of the most poisonous mushrooms is called ‘death cap’?” Ava says randomly as they take the stairs one step at a time. “It’s apparently common throughout Europe. Pope Clement VII died from consuming it.”

“Did you learn that from a Netflix documentary, too?” Beatrice turns around and asks, just as she opens the door and steps onto the rooftop.

“No.” Ava shows Beatrice her phone screen and waves it with her hand. “ _ Google _ did.”

Beatrice laughs.

Ava has a love for little random trivias. With all that time spent watching National Geographic, the random programs on History, it’s hard not to develop love for random tidbits of information.

She wonders if sharing trivia will be their thing now. She hopes it will.

Beatrice takes her usual spot a few feet away from the railing, facing east and the brand new sun halfway through it’s ascent over the horizon. Ava settles down to watch both the sunset and Beatrice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think the alternative title to this would be Avatrice Thingz. Lol. This is turning out to be just little chapters on things they do together, things they share between them. I think I like that.
> 
> This whole thing was supposed to set up home hurt/comfort scenes during Ava's training, but I'd gotten carried away... So I'm posting it as a standalone chapter. Let's hope I finally do get to the avatrice I want to write next chapter and not get carried away in writing soft moments again lmao.


	3. Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A retelling of episode 8.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was drunk when i wrote most of this. i hope it doesn't show. lmao. all mistakes are mine. dialogue in italics are dialogue from the show. which, i think, is all the dialogue in here. lol.

The training day after the omelette breakfast ends up becoming their worst training day yet.

Ava had been showing promising progress since then, always whooping and bragging the moment she emerges from the other side of the brick wall that Jillian Salvius had so graciously provided them also.

But when Ava had to phase through 16 feet of concrete, she ended up jumping out from one of the sides, panting and shaking, eyes wild and panic so clearly written on them.

Beatrice comes to her side immediately.

 _“What happened?”_ The sister warrior asks.

 _“Basically, it really sucks after a few feet…”_ Ava explains in between breaths, still trying to get her bearings. _“I got disoriented and bailed…”_

And then Ava tries her best to explain what it feels like to phase. Beatrice sees the fear in her eyes with equal parts the frustration, and hears the vulnerability ring in her voice.

There was only one other time she’d seen Ava upset - when Mother Superion had accused her of taking her own life and she’d been so hurt to be accused of such a thing.

Because Ava wants nothing more than to live; live and experience life and be able to make her own choices.

And that’s why Ava jumped out of the side of the concrete wall the moment she felt it threatening to crush her in - that’s what has always motivated her, why the two times she’d come to the OCS was out of self-preservation.

Flight and not fight.

Ava’s number 1 has always been herself.

Beatrice didn’t necessarily share the same beliefs - her faith had always come above everything else. And her faith dictated self-sacrifice. Her vows demand her to constantly set herself aside and scripture always reminds her to forget herself - to put the needs of the sick, of the poor, of the innocent before her own.

But she can see where Ava was coming from and she carries such respect for the halo bearer for her strength.

Beatrice would never judge Ava. Only understand.

Ava had a good heart but she would never punish herself, not when she was suddenly given a chance to live and experience life - something she was robbed of by a cruel accident before.

Ava would always choose to live.

Whereas Beatrice has only known punishment her whole life, and most of it is self-inflicted.

So Beatrice offered half an idea for a solution.

_“What if I can find some way to guide you?”_

Then Jillian Salvius swoops in with the concrete other half to the solution to complete Beatrice’s suggestion.

Ava and Beatrice pop in their earpieces with the GPS trackers. Beatrice holds the tablet where she can track Ava’s progress securely in her hands.

 _“Can you hear me?”_ Beatrice checks.

 _“Yeah,”_ Ava confirms. _“I’m right next to you,”_ she adds with a cheeky smile.

Beatrice just tilts her head, face expressionless like a teacher who has no time for her student’s sass.

_“Just for that I’m gonna ace this.”_

And then Ava launches herself into the wall.

Whether Ava said that as a way to make up for being a smart ass, or to get on her good side, Beatrice had no clue.

But the corners of Beatrice’s lips twitch skyward and the sister warrior could not have stopped the small smile that etched itself on her lips because of it, even if she tried.

 _“You’re 4 feet through,”_ Beatrice reports. _“Keep going straight,”_ she directs.

The red dot blinks. The sister warrior diligently keeps her eye on it.

And then the red dot stops moving.

 _“You stopped moving,”_ she points out in worry. The question of _‘why_?’ left unspoken, but there nonetheless.

Ava responds immediately.

_“I’m lost.”_

Beatrice takes note of how Ava hadn’t even gotten past 8 feet before she felt overwhelmed by the rock. Ava had already gotten through 10 feet previously.

She worries that Ava might be getting exhausted with the training, or if it was the halo’s energy getting exhausted. Ava had been unable to move after that blast in Shannon’s room, when Sister Crimson pulled the trigger on a shotgun.

The sister warrior asks Ava to take two steps in any direction to get an idea of which direction Ava was facing. Ava does and Beatrice guides her on how to get out.

But the panic seems to be getting the better of Ava.

 _“I want out,”_ the halo bearer demands, panic lacing her tone. _“Bring me up!”_ she yells in urgency, as if drowning.

 _“Just a few more feet,”_ Beatrice encourages her. _“You can do this.”_

Ava gives no answer, but her labored breathing comes clean through the communication piece in Beatrice’s ear. The sister warrior starts pacing, unable to stay still, mind immediately trying to come up with ways of how to save Ava in case she ends up getting stuck in concrete.

 _“Ava?”_ she checks, worried. Beatrice steps around to the side of the concrete slabs.

 _“Ava?”_ comes the second call with more urgency.

And then suddenly Ava bursts through the tail end of the 16 feet concrete wall.

The halo bearer deftly catches herself with both hands, keeping her face from hitting the floor. Beatrice runs to her prone form. She instinctively touches Ava’s face but with all the gentleness she could muster.

Beatrice’s intention was to ground Ava - to tell her _‘you’re here, I’m here, you’re alright’_.

And it seems like Ava got her message loud and clear, because she looks up at Beatrice with such gratitude that the sister warrior’s heart _aches_.

 _“I don’t know what happened,”_ Ava explains. _“It’s like the longer I’m in there, I-”_

 _“You lose power,”_ Jillian Salvius helpfully supplies. _“You’re draining the halo’s energy. And unfortunately, in this case, if you lose power-”_

 _“I get stuck in a_ fucking wall _,”_ Ava interrupts her, frustration seasoning her statement with a curse.

Beatrice places a comforting hand on her back in an attempt to assure the halo bearer once more.

And maybe to remind her that she hasn’t lost feeling below her neck and that she isn’t back to being quadriplegic once again.

_“I’m gonna need a hell of a lot more energy if I’m gonna make it through 20 feet.”_

_“Well, I’ve been able to amp up the halo’s energy before,”_ Dr. Salvius turns to Beatrice.

 _“Yeah,”_ Ava raises her tone, angry. _“By lighting me up like a fucking Christmas tree. There’s no way I can walk while being electrocuted!”_

The suggestion dies on Jillian Salvius' lips.Bh Beatricead no idea what Ava was talking about. But it clicks in her mind, then and there, why Jillian Salvius had gone above and beyond with her generosity.

It is highly probable that the woman had done something to Ava and was making up for it. She was motivated by guilt.

And then a bloody and ragged Lilith opened the door to the training room, called out Ava’s name and lost consciousness.

* * *

Ava has her back to the wall a few feet from the room where they took Lilith, a million thoughts running through her head. Confusion. Fear.

Mostly guilt.

So when the door opens, she instinctively pushes herself off of it and walks away. Where? Her brain hadn’t come up with that yet. Anywhere as long as it's far from there. Anywhere that isn't there.

But a soft voice calling her name stops her.

“ _Ava_.”

It’s Beatrice. Of course, it is.

And maybe fate was sending Ava a message at this moment, with how it was also Beatrice who found her tucked away in a dark corner of Cat’s Cradle after Mother Superion insinuated she was a liar for saying that there was no way she could have taken her life when she was _quadriplegic_.

But Ava was too in her head to see it.

 _“Oh, hey.”_ Ava tries her best to sound nonchalant, as if she wasn’t just about to high-tail it from there. _“Yeah, I was just.. I was just..”_

Beatrice wears a knowing smile. A kind smile. One you couldn’t reward with a lie.

So Ava drops whatever excuse she was about to give, decides to halt putting on her emotional armor.

For now.

It’s Beatrice she’s talking to, anyway.

 _“H-how is she?”_ Ava asks, a stutter managing to slip in and betray what she is feeling. 

_“Alive,”_ Beatrice answers. _“Somehow.”_

 _“Cool,”_ Ava responds a little too quickly. She nods slowly, then tips back on the balls of her feet, then pulls herself back, balancing. The air of nonchalance and indifference had dissipated - if it even was there at all - and all that is left is awkward nerves.

Quadriplegic or not, Ava seems to always be that, 24/7 - a bundle of restless energy and awkward nerves.

 _“You should see her,”_ Beatrice suggests.

If Ava had been paying attention, she would have seen quiet understanding behind Beatrice’s warm brown eyes.

_“Yeah, but she probably needs to rest, so-”_

The excuse dies on Ava’s lips as Beatrice cuts her off.

“It was your name she called out.”

Ava finds herself at a loss of words. Beatrice’s eyes bear into her. The halo bearer finds herself unable to look away - frozen stuck. 

A detached part of Ava notices how much lighter Beatrice’s eyes are than she’d initially thought, especially when the light hits them just at the right angle-

 _“What are you afraid of?”_ The sister warrior puts her palms behind her - against the wall in the narrow hallway, then leans back on the back of her hands - as she says it.

Beatrice’s words halt Ava’s thoughts. 

There really aren’t that many instances that shut Ava up. She may have been physically shut up where no comebacks spill out of her mouth, but her mental commentary never stops.

But somehow, just now, Beatrice was able to stop all of it. Even the constant chugging of Ava’s train of thoughts is railroaded by that single retort.

Ava breathes in deep through her nose. She looks away, but just to the side of Beatrice’s face, away from knowing eyes that are too beautiful to look at while she admits to the multitude of things she’s feeling and the complications of it.

The halo bearer clenches her jaw.

“Well, for one, the last time I saw her, she tried to murder me,” Ava starts, voice lowering when she says the word ‘murder’. Beatrice gives her a slight nod. “For two, she sacrificed herself for me. She stepped in front of that monster and she laid down her life for me, and I just.. I.. I don’t know what to say to her.”

Beatrice just watches her and listens. When Ava finishes her explanation, she looks down.

The door opens then, Camila stepping out.

* * *

Ava and Beatrice sit down in one of the more comfortably furnished rooms in Jillian’s building. It was a sitting room of some sort, with shelves to one side and two very comfortable couches in the middle.

It might have been where Jillian met and spoke to clients or reporters. It seemed like a room where people could just talk and relax - there were no machinery or equipment and the walls weren’t painted a clean white that made everything feel so clinical and sterilized.

Beatrice sits on one couch and Ava has her legs up, crossed, on the other.

 _“This is from a warrior nun called Sister Melanie,”_ Beatrice begins, reading the first lines of the entry. They find out that Sister Melanie became the warrior nun after her escape from a Nazi concentration camp.

 _“Wait, how could she be Jewish and a nun?”_ Ava asks, quick to interrupt, always one less a filter than most.

 _“They persecuted others for being different,”_ Beatrice explains. _“Not just Jews.”_ The sister warrior’s eyes shift away. _“She was gay.”_

 _“Ugh, God,”_ Ava groans. _“Nazis suck balls.”_

Beatrice could only smile, tight-lipped and quickly disappearing. She continues to read and translate the journal.

 _“Wait,”_ Ava interrupts again. _“Are you translating that from French?”_

Beatrice looks away from the journal before looking up at Ava to chastise her, impatience bubbling within her.

_“Pay attention.”_

The sister warrior’s voice was soft and gentle - as it always is. But if Ava was actually paying attention, she would have noticed how Beatrice’s normally warm light brown eyes are now troubled, and that there was a tightness to her expression. As if there is something in her she is trying to contain.

 _“Ooh,”_ Ava says simply, a clueless smile on her face. _“Read on.”_

Beatrice continues. She tells Ava about Sister Melanie’s encounter with the Nazi officers in a French pub, reading in first person just as the entry was written.

Ava watches her and just listens. Her brows knit as the retelling of the confrontation between Sister Melanie and the officers becomes increasingly tense.

 _“‘Juden,’_ he sneered.” Beatrice looks up at her, as if drawing her attention to ensure Ava listens to what is about to happen in the story next.

 _“‘Nein,’ I replied.”_ The sister warrior continues reading and translating. She takes a deep breath, as if she had to prepare herself to say the next word.

Avais absolutely immersed in the story at this point, anticipating what is to happen next.

Beatrice’s voice comes out shaky when she says it.

_“‘Lesbich.’”_

The word sits bitterly on Beatrice’s tongue - the identity feeling like a slur. It felt like a brand of sin burned into the skin by hot iron of women who dared love and desire fellow women to identify them as tainted.

 _Sick_. Not on the outside but from _within_. Like they were not livestock but were now useless.

And yet the way the word falls from Beatrice’s lips fly over Ava’s head and she completely misses it.

Of course, it’s no fault of hers. But when she snorts and says _‘lesbich,’_ with a grin, as if it was just the coolest thing, Beatrice feels the storm rage louder inside her.

But the sister warrior continues reading and translating, keeping her emotions under wraps. She sniffs. Ava listens, the smile not leaving her face.

_“His friends converged on me. I drew the Holy Sword and cut them down-”_

_“Oh, yeah, she did!”_ Ava exclaims in excitement.

Beatrice ignores her and continues, emotions rising up to her throat threatening to choke her. She tells about how the warrior nun who was a former Dachau camp prisoner managed to summon such energy from the halo that she’d melted the Nazi officer’s bullets, his skin, and even a good portion of the pub’s wall.

Ava rests her chin on the palm of her hand, rests her elbows on her knees.

 _“I have no understanding of what allowed me to conjure such energy,”_ Beatrice reads and translates. _“But in the moment, I felt unbound. Unburdened.”_ The sister warrior blinks, shakes her head the tiniest bit as if to wave away tears. _“I felt finally myself.”_ Her voice cracks, the weight of it all becoming too much for her to bear now.

The story ends. Beatrice blinks back tears, taking a deep breath through her nose to clear her chest, relax her throat that feels too clogged up. She tries her best to let whatever emotions that have spilled out through the cracks to slither back in.

Ava just looks at her, thoughtful. A moment passes. Beatrice closes the book shut. The sister warrior shakily takes in another deep breath, this time booking skyward. Her eyes are shiny with unshed tears - emotions held back by a vice grip of self-control.

Beatrice did not only train and discipline her body and mind, all those years in boarding school then working for the OCS. She trained her heart and soul as well.

What a disservice and disgrace it would be to all those years, if she were to allow her walls to crumble down now.

But Ava, dear sweet clueless and concerned Ava, somehow seems to have the natural talent of getting through walls - both physical and emotional.

 _“Do you want to talk about it?”_ The halo bearer asks, gently, as if afraid that if she spoke too loud, Beatrice would suddenly crumble.

The question makes Beatrice snort a laugh. It’s humorless. Almost condescending. She shakes her head.

 _“Nothing, it’s fine, I…”_ Beatrice says.

Ava might be reckless and impulsive, but she is no fool. And Beatrice isn’t so convincing, either.

 _“A badass story of a warrior nun tapping into her rage making you cry is nothing?”_ Ava retorts, quick to pick up sass and sarcasm in hopes of easing Beatrice into telling her about whatever it was bothering her.

But unfortunately it elicits a different reaction from the sister warrior. Something snaps. The emotions rush like a flood and Beatrice would not be able to collect them all even if she tries.

_“Your ignorance is really a downer sometimes.”_

A momentary lapse makes Beatrice loosen her grip on her own feelings. Her words hurt Ava.

_“Hey!”_

A singly syllable slips out of the halo bearer’s mouth. This wasn’t like Beatrice at all. She’s never seen the sister warrior - her mentor, and if she dared consider her as one, her friend - lash out at anyone, not even Sister Crimson who she’d dealt calculated blows to while predicting her counter-attacks in a cold voice.

Something’s wrong.

 _“Wha-what’s wrong?”_ Ava stutters.

 _“As usual you’ve managed to miss the entire point.”_ Annoyance that’s barely held back simmers under Beatrice’s tone. She sniffles, but continues. _“Sister Melanie tapped into something elemental in her soul and it amplified the halo’s energy.”_

Ava looks at Beatrice, brows knit together, and hurt in her eyes.

She’d expected everyone in the world to lose their patience with her. Sister Frances had told her hatefully how much of a burden she was all her life. And even Diego got tired of her little favors - to adjust her pillow cause her neck was uncomfortable, to change the channel on the television, to close the blinds a little bit because the sun was hurting her eyes.

It was alright though. Diego was a kid younger than her. She didn’t expect him to willingly lend her his hands and assistance.

But not Beatrice.

Beatrice had been nothing but kind and patient. Even when Beatrice was telling her about how she expected her to run away, Beatrice had not judged her. The sister warrior only understood her and where she was coming from.

Even when Ava expected her to be annoyed or impatient, she wasn’t. Even when Beatrice didn’t owe her kindness and understanding, she showed nothing but.

Even outside of the vows she took as a nun, it just didn’t seem to be in Beatrice’s nature to lash out.

But here she was, lashing out at Ava.

And Ava is _wounded_ by it.

Usually Ava had a catty comeback for anyone who dared raise their voice at her - Sister Frances had always been on the receiving end of it.

Now, though, with Beatrice, Ava uncharacteristically had none.

 _“If you wanna pass through 20 feet of stone, you need to break through your own personal pain.”_ Beatrice finishes her barrage.

Ava blinks, takes it all in. But there is only one question in her mind.

 _“Okay, but why are you so mad at me?”_ the halo bearer asks, casting her eyes downward, unable to look Beatrice in the eye when she’s too vulnerable.

Beatrice is taken aback by the question. She blinks once, and the clouds in her eyes clear away as realization dawns upon her. She takes a deep breath then looks away, shaking her head.

 _“I’m not mad at you,”_ she says softly. She stares at a random spot on the coffee table in front of her, unseeing. She inhales then sighs shakily. _“I-I’m sorry,”_ she apologizes.

Ava looks at her, seeing the tip of the iceberg weighing down on the sister warrior, and feels the need to apologize, too.

For being insensitive. For being clueless. For not simply shutting up and listening. For not realizing _something_ sooner.

Ava isn’t one to apologize - she’d been so done with feeling like she owes anyone anything after a lifetime of being confined within her bed, her world shrunk to four bed posts and four corners of a room.

She swore to _taste_ , to _take_ , to _experience_ , to just _be._

And do all of that _unapologetically_.

But Beatrice seems to be a constant exception.

 _“It’s not you.”_ Beatrice says gently, a shadow of a smile in the uptick of the corner of her lips. Ava looks at her, swallowing a lump of emotion in her throat. _“It was everyone but you.”_

It seems that to Beatrice, Ava is an exception, too.

 _“My whole life, people have tried to make me into something I’m not.”_ Beatrice tells her. _“To make me ‘normal’. Or at least acceptable. I became skilled at so many things just so I could still have value, despite my flaws - or what I’d been taught as a flaw.”_ The sister warrior snorts a humorless laugh, eyes brimming once again with the tears she’d previously held back. _“But when you’re punished just for being different,” she takes a deep breath, “you begin to hate what you are.”_

Beatrice looks up, looks into Ava’s eyes as she means every word she says - each one carrying the weight of her truth.

Of who she is. Of her identity.

_“What you love.. What should make you happy, only brings you pain.”_

A single tear rolls down Beatrice’s cheek. She leaves many things unsaid.

She leaves out how she had fallen in love with the girl she was best friends with at 7.

She leaves out how her mother had seen her kissing a girl she’d already forgotten the name of when she was thirteen. The girl was one of the other surfing students.

She leaves out how she never saw the beaches and waves of Southern Finland again, after that. She leaves out how she misses the way the sun at the beach tanned her skin and how she never got as tan as that again.

She leaves out how she was never allowed to learn or do anything of her choosing once again, how she was shipped off to boarding school and how her lessons and tutors were controlled and chosen by her parents. She leaves out how she was expected to excel at everything - at ballet, at martial arts, at academics.

She leaves out how she was called an embarrassment and an abomination. She leaves out how she was told by her parents that they will not consider her their daughter unless and until she corrects herself and her behavior. She leaves out how they punctuated that by saying that no daughter of theirs would become a _lesbian_.

She leaves out how the word made her feel so _dirty_ and _disgusting_.

Because she didn’t need to say all of those things. Maybe someday she should - maybe one day she will fully tell her story, open up about her pain.

But for now, Ava gets it.

Ava looks at her with an understanding and a recognition. Ava knew what she was saying, without outright saying it.

And that was enough.

 _“Pain is what made me a sister warrior.”_ Beatrice finishes.

Ava stares at her. She feels the urge to hold Beatrice, to hug her, or at the very least hold her hand - assurance in any physical form. But she holds herself back.

Beatrice might not welcome that kind of comfort just yet. So Ava settles for conveying it through words.

_“Don’t hate what you are. What you are is beautiful.”_

Ava hopes it was enough. Beatrice smiles then looks up slowly. When she holds Ava’s gaze with her own, she smiles again.

Grateful. Relieved. Less burdened.

Ava realizes then how much Beatrice carried with her before this moment, how there was always something veiled and guarded behind her eyes.

She feels her heart break.

Ava thinks of how Beatrice comforted her by touching her face and her back - in Cat’s Cradle and in Jillian Salvius’ lab when she’d feared that she’d lost the ability to move again. She hopes she can return the favor to Beatrice one day - to touch and hold her as a form of reassurance.

A part of her hopes it would be their thing.

Because when she regained feeling from her neck down, she’d discovered that there is a kind of comfort that physical touch gives and it can’t be replaced by any other.

For now she settles with an apology.

For whatever happened to Beatrice, for whatever has caused her all the hurt that’s led her to the OCS.

 _“I’m sorry for your pain.”_ she says softly.

 _“Don’t be,”_ Beatrice answers. _“Because now we get to tap into yours.”_

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooh boy this is a big one. i had a lot of thoughts and feelings. some of the ideas here about the thoughts and feelings of ava and beatrice, i really can't take credit for cause they were borne out of discussions with the ladies at 'the nunnery'. the bit about your identity feeling like a slur when you say it yourself was from fa, specifically. beatrice's experience is just a headcanon. so are the things about diego and sister frances. i hope i'd made all their thoughts and feelings clear in this chapter. i hope it wasn't boring to read since technically we've all watched this already happen in the show. i just wanted to tell it the way i understood how it happened. and the conversation bea and ava have meant so much to me. i, too, grew up in a christian family, had to be an achiever because i am gay. so, there.
> 
> lastly, please leave comments! took me so long to write because i kept rewatching the parts and pausing to write then playing and pausing again lol.


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